


In Dashing Colours

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aromantic Hubert, Asexual Hubert, It has both relationship tags because QPRs are confusing, M/M, Post-Canon, Questioning Aromantic Ferdinand, also the lore says the Emperor can have more than one consort, black eagles route spoilers, like oops i totally spilled all my aro feels on both of them, so you can bet I jumped on that bit of information XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: After Hubert saved the Brigid ambassador's daughter, a ceremony is to be held in his honour. There's only one problem: Brigid customs favour bright colours, and his wardrobe ranges from raven black to the deepest shade of void. That his best solution resides in Ferdinand von Aegir doesn't help matters at all.





	In Dashing Colours

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what happens when you're equally deep in your aromantic headcanons and your more shippy needs. Writing these two together is pure joy no matter how I frame their relationship. <3

Hubert stared at the two near-identical set of ceremonial robes spread on the bed before him, both black as night, with simple highlights embroidered along the sleeves and collar--one in gold, and the other in silver. As he did not care for flamboyant accoutrements, his wardrobe consisted mainly of obsidian robes of one type or another--which in turn made these his two best options for the coming ceremony. It was, in truth, something of an issue. Brigid customs valued bright colours, and he feared the consequences of appearing in nothing but black. Diplomacy had never been his main preoccupation, but it would not do hinder Lady Eldeguard’s relationship with the ambassador. Perhaps he should’ve left the man’s daughter fall into the river; it would’ve spared him the irritation of being so publicly honoured.

While Hubert considered his blatantly insufficient options, his door swung open soundlessly, and the frank, eager footsteps coming in could only belong to one person. He didn't bother to turn around.

“Ferdinand. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I am wounded, my friend! To think I came all this way from my own quarters to congratulate you on your noble act.” 

Ferdinand’s quarters happened to be right down the corridor, next to Lady Edelgard’s, and it would have required him less than a minute to come invade Hubert’s space--an act he performed with bothersome frequency. Hubert didn’t expect to ever get used to Ferdinand’s casual use of ‘my friend’, regardless of the unexpected trust they had built over the years. 

“That is entirely unnecessary. You may--”

“Hubert.” Ferdinand cut him off as he reached Hubert’s side, astonishment and amusement mixing in his voice. “You cannot possibly envision wearing either of these to the ceremony, can you? They are… terribly dull.”

Yes, that had rather been the point upon acquiring them. Hubert shifted aside, risking a glance at Ferdinand--lush orange hair falling upon his shoulder, its colour only enhanced by shirt barely a shade darker and the indigo doublet over it. Always in bright and ornate outfits, that one, his mere presence an attempt to call all eyes to him.

“I am Lady Edelgard’s shadow, not her trophy husband.”

Ferdinand’s rich laugh brought a thin smile to Hubert’s lips. If someone had told him five years ago he’d come to accept Ferdinand von Aegir as a suitable consort for Lady Edelgard, he would’ve ensured they would not see another dawn. Reinstating House Aegir as a political force in the Empire had done much to settle their internal unrest, however, and Ferdinand… as it turned out, his affections for Lady Edelgard were entirely platonic, and much closer to Hubert’s own than he would have thought possible. Years of being forced within each other’s vicinity had granted Hubert an undeniable fondness for the other man; it was difficult to hate someone with the maliciousness (and intelligence) of a puppy.

“Yes, yes, I know, Hubert. No one can equal my shineliness.” Ferdinand flipped his long hair with a grin, and there was no telling whether or not he understood ‘shineliness’ was not an actual word, or if he’d simply decided to make it so. “Regardless, you cannot appear before the ambassador dressed in naught but black robes, no matter how elegant. That is simply unacceptable.”

Though Hubert desired to resist the idea, he found himself in agreement. He offered Ferdinand a non-committal _ hm_, which the other took for what it was. 

“Splendid!” He picked up the dark outfit with a golden trim--“These will go better with your eyes”--then set a firm hand on Hubert’s shoulder and pulled him towards the door, his strides long and eager. Hubert did not resist the pull, yet Ferdinand’s enthusiasm instilled a respectable amount of worry within him.

“Should I ask where you are leading me?”

“To my quarters, of course! The den of the brightest, most colourful clothes this land has to offer.”

Hubert couldn’t help his groan, and Ferdinand’s frank laugh instantly filled the corridor. The sound of it settled his nerves to some extent. For all that Hubert appreciated his fierce debates of methods, ethics, and objectives with Ferdinand over carefully-selected tea or coffee, it was this sound he had grown most fond of, like warm honey on a sore throat. The joy and optimism of it eased his own tendencies toward pessimistic melancholy.

“Colourful or not, they will be tailored to you,” Hubert pointed out. “We are not remotely of the same build, I’m afraid.”

“I am well aware!” He pushed the door to his quarters and slipped in first, turning around as he entered, shining eyes alighting on Hubert as he grinned. “And you, my friend, underestimate me once again.”

These words, out of Ferdinand’s mouth, rarely heralded good news. Hubert abstained from an answer, and Ferdinand threw his outfit over the back of one chair, before disappearing further into his quarters, where Hubert knew he had a walk-in larger than most of the household staff’s bedrooms. Truly, the man’s rooms were exactly what you’d expect upon meeting him: extravagant, colourful, and strangely welcoming. Of particular interest was his small tea area, near the fireplace, with a small table, dainty chairs, and numerous shelves of tea sets and lush plants. Hubert no longer counted the number of hours he had spent there. 

“I do not hear the rustle of clothes as you change, Hubert! Please do so while I seek the object of our miracle.”

Change? Here? Hubert’s gaze flicked to the black robes, then to the door. He was not a particularly self-conscious man, but the frequent all-nighters he pulled in Ferdinand’s rooms--or with Ferdinand in his--had already created their share of gossip, in the staff and nobility alike. It was amusing, to some extent; Lady Edelgard had years ago bluntly told them they would have her blessing to pursue a relationship, marriage or no marriage, if they had any such desire. It had been… confusing. His love for Ferdinand’s company had certainly come to equal his devotion to Lady Edelgard, yet it would never occur to him to call either sentiment romantic, and for all that Ferdinand was beautiful to look at, the idea of kissing him left Hubert colder than a winter day in Gautier territory. He had thanked Lady Edelgard for the offer with a low chuckle and a shake of his head.

She had, apparently, made the same speech to Ferdinand only 24 hours later, going as far as offering to free him of their union, no doubt believing Hubert had refrained from complete honesty with her. The poor man must have been utterly confused, and he’d promptly brought it up over tea, with all of his usual subtlety.

“Do you love me, Hubert?”

Hubert had almost choked on his tea, but Ferdinand had forged on, leaving him absolutely no time to answer.

“My conundrum, Hubert, is that I do not know if I love you. When you enter a room, it is as if a black void has stepped in, and yet my world always feels brighter for it. When you laugh, it is either a deep rumbling for my ears alone, or a sinister sound I cannot help but feel blessed by.” He wrapped his hands around the tea cup, inhaling the air above, then shook his head on continued. “Yet I think of how Dorothea speaks of Her Majesty, or how Sylvain and Felix looked at each other at the Academy, of how Linhardt can never stop leaning upon Caspar, and Caspar speaks of nothing but Lin’s brilliance, and I do not believe this is the sort of feelings I have for you. And so I find myself wondering… do I not love you? Is the way I love so different? Is it wrong, perhaps? Love is a noble thing, surely I cannot be deprived of it!”

“Ferdinand.” 

Hubert had interrupted him before the panicked edge in his voice could gain too strong of a foothold. He’d been uncertain how to handle this sudden declaration, but one thing had seemed obvious: Lady Edelgard had thrown her poor husband into quite an identity crisis with her offer. He’d waited for Ferdinand to look at him and measured each word carefully.

“It’s not in your power to change how you love others. I’ve accepted long ago that I don’t… fall in love, whatever that may mean. What a fickle feeling love is, in any case. Here an instant, gone in a flash.” He gestured midair, as if dispersing smoke. “It can’t compare to my devotion to Lady Edelgard. So, no, I don’t love you. A truth that, to my sense, has no impact on how bleak and dull my life would be without you in it.”

“Mark the date!” Ferdinand had exclaimed, raising his finger in victory. “A compliment from Hubert von Vestra, paid in full to Ferdinand von Aegir.”

Hubert had laughed, but he had not let the casual deflection stand. “You may define this relationship however you wish, Ferdinand, and I will accept it as long as you know what to expect of me. But… once, you told me that a title was no true mark of nobility. Perhaps love is the same: you can title it romantic, if you wish, and even put a ring on it, but it has no correlation to its depth.”

"Whenever did you get so wise in matters of love, my friend?"

He had said it as though it was a tragic truth, yet Hubert could only smirk. "Once Dorothea Arnault takes it upon herself to grill you about the nature of your feelings for your liege, there is no escaping it."

Ferdinand had laughed, and that had been the end of it. He'd never brought it up since, and as he continued to call Hubert 'my friend', he must have decided no wedding was necessary. Whether it was because he hadn't yet reached a conclusion, or because he was still exploring the question, Hubert had no way of knowing.

In truth, the house staff would gossip no matter what he did, so Hubert reached for the buttons hidden within his robes and deftly undid them. He changed quickly, wasting no movement, and was in the process of pulling the robe over his head when Ferdinand's victorious "Ha-ha!" reached him. Hubert tugged the outfit down and placed his hair back as the man excitedly strode back into the room.

He was holding the shoulder-pads-and-half-cape design so widespread across all of Fódlan, one he'd foregone as needlessly flashy and bulky, more conceived to draw attention than escape it--which, admittedly, would be impossible today. The cape, to Hubert's relief, was mostly black. All except for a large triangle of soft, golden-green fabric meant to fall over his arm, its colour a strikingly perfect match for his eyes, and subtle embroidery of an identical thread decorating its edge and serving as a subtle callback to the outfit under. 

"If you oppose the noble union of this cape and your robes, speak now or forever hold your peace," Ferdinand declared, giving the cape a little shake.

His antics should not have amused Hubert to such an extent, but a low chuckle escaped him. This cape was… In a way, it was very Ferdinand, with its bright splash of colour at its heart, yet it fit him too, heavy and dark in its majority. It would be a significant nod to Brigid customs, and while the bright colour at the corner of his eyes would no doubt bother him throughout the ceremony, he could certainly endure for the sake of diplomacy. In short, it was a perfect compromise between his tastes and his needs. Impressive. Only one thing bothered Hubert: Ferdinand had never worn anything so black, and had no reason to own such a cape.

“However did you come to own this, Ferdinand? It’s far below your acceptable level of colour.”

“I--Well…” Ferdinand cleared his throat, which was exceptional enough in itself to make Hubert even more curious. He raised his eyebrows and waited in silence. “Sheer luck guided my eyes to it, but I instantly knew I had to acquire it. You are a brilliant, dedicated man, Hubert. I thought… I concluded that there would come a day where you would be honoured, and I would find myself seeking an outfit to better suit _ your _ taste, to please you. And lo and behold, this cape exists! Is it not just perfect?”

“It… is.” Hubert didn’t quite know what to do with the idea Ferdinand had purchased clothing specifically for the eventuality he might one day need to attend a party where Hubert’s fashion tastes should be his main concern. How… considerate.

“Let us try it on posthaste, then!”

The wide, eager grin returned as he swept across the room. Hubert stiffened as deft fingers clipped the cape to his shoulder without hesitation, placing the thicker pad and then gently spreading the fabric out. He rarely allowed anyone this close--daggers could too easily slip out of someone’s sleeve and bury themselves into his chest, after all. He had no such fears where Ferdinand was concerned, yet he struggled to relax.

Then Ferdinand’s fingers climbed to his ear, carrying a soft clinking with the movement, and a quick sharp pain followed. Hubert jerked his head back. Had he--did he just--

“Ferdinand!” He reached for his ear and huffed as he touched a long earring. It felt simple enough, a smooth cylinder ending in a point, but he glared at the noble nonetheless.

Sadly, Ferdinand had long since grown used to that particular tactic. He burst out laughing and shook his head. “It is for you own good! Something must balance your gorgeous hair, and you would not have allowed me. As you can see, I _ have _learned a measure of deceit from the master.”

“And promptly used it against him, yes,” he replied, hoping the acid in his tone would cover the blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. He touched the earring again and sighed. “Nothing to be done about it now.”

As if he couldn’t remove it easily. He trusted Ferdinand’s expertise in such frivolous matters more than his own, however. 

“Do not pout, fair Hubert,” Ferdinand said, his tone the perfect balance of sincerity and mockery. “You are finally ready to receive the honours and praise of the good ambassador of Brigid. What a glorious day!” He put a hand to Hubert’s back, slowly leading him towards the door. “I know ceremonies bore you, but have no fear, I will be in the crowd. If your oft-lacking banter skills default you, seek me out.”

Hubert scoffed as they exited Ferdinand’s room, and shrugged the hand off his back. “I would not wish _ your _conversation on anyone. A quick death would be preferable, even to my worst enemies.”

“It is true that my charms can be blinding, but surely you exaggerate!”

“I’m not one for hyperboles,” he said, and Ferdinand laughed as if that was a particularly funny joke. 

Their back and forth continued as they went down the corridor, slowly making their way towards the ceremony’s hall, Ferdinand’s arm wrapped around Hubert’s as he guided him, his voice bright and clear despite Hubert’s lower, almost whispered answers. Hubert absentmindedly reached up, touching the golden earring Ferdinand had snuck on him, his gaze sliding to the shock of orange hair on his right. Already, his mind had moved past the ceremony, to the different teas he could gift Ferdinand as thanks for the help today. And if they wound up tasting it and conversing late into the night, well, he would have to endure for the sake of gratitude, would he not?


End file.
